


Phobos Gets a Midnight Snack

by leedeeloo



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Food, Gen, also meouch can go fuck himself i guess, nighttime antics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 17:37:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7517305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leedeeloo/pseuds/leedeeloo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The nocturnal glow boy gets hungry and maybe fucks up a little on his way to get food.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phobos Gets a Midnight Snack

It was about three in the morning. Normally Phobos kept to his room, reading, headphones plugged into his guitar mindlessly playing weird things, doting on his plants.

But he was hungry.

Putting on socks somehow helped to squash the urge to tiptoe down the hall, the cotton softening the thump of his steps. He left his door open, hand trailing from knob to hinge, down the wall as he walked. It spawned the smallest point of light, just enough for him to know where the bends of door frames and corners were before his hand ran over them. His other hand was out in front of him, waiting to grab on the the railing before going down the stairs. 

It was pretty routine; grab the railing as soon as his fingers touched it, keep his hand on the wall as he approached it, pinky touching the surface as he stretched his hand out until his thumb touched the bannister. Two light points of contact out of three felt somehow more secure than just one solid connection. Even when he was only holding on with one hand, he stuck close to the railing, sandwiching it between his hand and hip. The socks made him feel quieter and less disruptive, but he didn’t have any traction on the tile floor, and they obscured the glow from his skin.

He didn’t really know what happened. His foot went out too far, or slipped a bit, or he lost his grip. There wasn’t time to process what exactly was going on when his feet flew out in front of his torso and he slammed down on the step. 

And the step after that. And the one after that. He kept going down, like the staircase was the worst and loudest slide in the world. 

In some frantic effort to stop, he brought his feet down, soles flat on some step ahead. Everything above his knees, however, kept going. He just managed to catapult himself in a perfect arch, ending his fall in a belly slide. His chin hit the bottom step before slamming into the floor and sliding across it, the rest of him crumpling in behind. 

There was a moment where he just didn’t move. His brain had to catch up with what had just happened, apparently lagging behind and above him by a few feet. There was the shuffling and thumping of footsteps upstairs; obviously someone else woke up from the racket he made. He pushed himself up, slowly twisting to sit up. 

He was just about to feel his face, see if any of the tingling throbs were from bleeding cuts, but he got interrupted by a shout at the top of the stairs.

“You okay, buddy?” Of course it was Sung. Phobos shut his eyes just before Sung turned on the light over the stairs. “You didn’t break anything, did you?” He was hesitating, hovering at the top of the stairs, waiting for a response before he came all the way down.

A short, guttural scream came out of Phobos, ending as abruptly as it started.

He waited, almost pouting, at the bottom of the stairs as Sung tapped down. He was hard to hear; the only clue he was there was the feather light touch on Phobos’ face, tilting it up. There was this concerned hum, his face being pushed side to side as he was inspected.

“You’re a little scuffed but you’re not bleeding, so,” Sung trailed off, his hand came off Phobos’ face. “Hand,” he said, and Phobos raised his, finding Sung’s on instinct. Sung pulled him to his feet like nothing, like Sung didn’t  _ just _ weigh enough for there to be a sound when he walked. 

There was this over exaggerated yawn, and Phobos turned his head to it. “Well. I’m going back to bed.” His voice was getting further away, already heading up the stairs. “Lemme know if you think you have a concussion, though!” Phobos just nodded, waiting for the click of the lightswitch at the top of the stairs. It took a second longer than he expected.

He turned and stretched back, hand reaching out and finding the wall, getting his bearings again. Flexed his hand against the flat surface, the bits where his skin had scraped off stinging. 

Thumping footsteps coming down the stairs. He stopped, waiting to see who it was; listening if Meouch was asleep on the living room couch again, if there was metal rasping on metal, in need of maintenance. 

Closer.

No breathing in the living room; just metal and weight.

Finally close enough to see that it was Havve thumping down for some reason. Phobos stared- it was all he could really do at the moment- as Havve came all the way down, behind him, then pressed his hand to Phobos’ back, a solid pressure, urging him to walk. He went forward, peering over his shoulder. 

Havve was… efficient. He didn’t do things without reason, he even moved purposefully. So there was obviously something he wanted.

Phobos’ stomach growled and he looked ahead, arms out either side as him as he plodded along to the kitchen island. Once his hand touched it he used that as a pivot point, getting into the actual kitchen. 

Havve followed. He leaned on the opposite side of the counter, out of Phobos’ way, just watching. It wasn’t uncomfortable; they were bandmates, they lived together, but Phobos was used to being alone during the night. Sometimes Meouch would be prowling around, but for the most part, it was just him, quiet, and darkness. 

He kept wringing his hands, partially for light, but more as his own way of dealing with the sudden change. He bent over too far to look into the fridge, squinting into the light, spending longer than he needed grabbing condiments, deli meat. His hands kept stuttering; up to touch his face before he remembered to stop it, reaching for the same thing, double taking before grabbing it. 

He glanced over to Havve a couple times, but he was impossible to read; just two red dots staring back. Havve didn’t even have his full face on. Of course when they were at home, he took off all the intimidating armor and, somehow, the bottom half of his face. Instead of intimidating teeth reflecting the dim points of light, he was just a floating ghost of a face.

The whole scenario was a little unsettling.

Somewhere in his fidgeting, Phobos finished making his sandwich. He sailed out, hand pivoting on the island in the same manner as when he came in, and stretching out ahead of him, feeling for some point of the stairs. He had just started up the steps when he realized two things: he didn’t grab any kind of beverage so he’d have to come down again, and that Havve was following him. Still.

He kept going up, retracing the same steps he took down, back to his room and setting his food down on his nightstand. He spun around, to again feel his way to the kitchen, and was staring face to face with Havve in his doorway. 

Phobos stepped back suddenly, a little squeak coming out of him. Havve just watched. Phobos went back to the nightstand, where he left his phone. He paced back, typing out a message for Havve.

‘ _ What are you doing? _ ’

He passed his phone over. Waited. Tried not to stare at Havve as he typed out a response. He’d start to hand it back, then pulled back, whatever he had said not being exactly right. 

Finally he gave it back. And-

‘ _ thought you might want some company _ ’

It was unexpected, so unlike Havve, not at all the kind of motivation Phobos assumed he would possess. He typed out another message, just an explanation of what he was doing, put his phone in Havve’s hand and breezed out past him, fingertips gliding on the wall.

Just as he was at the top of the stairs, he heard it; the creaking of metal, of Havve settling in somewhere in Phobos’ room.

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact the working title of this was "FUCK" because i originally wanted phobles to yell that instead of just screaming.


End file.
